The Googly of Fate||ICT IMAGINE||

shepherd's pie

For- Ash2029

Fairy lights twinkled overhead, casting a warm glow on the bustling party scene at Krunal Pandya's place. Laughter and chatter filled the air, punctuated by the clinking of glasses. Hardik Pandya, impeccably dressed in a linen shirt, found himself face-to-face with his nemesis, Amrita Singh.

"Can you believe the audacity of these waiters?" Amrita huffed, her sequined dress shimmering with each breath. "No burrata in sight!"

Hardik snorted, nearly spilling his drink. "Oh no, the horror. How will you survive the evening?"

Amrita glared at him. "Unlike some people here," she drawled, emphasizing the "here," "I actually enjoy good food. Unlike, say, burnt offerings disguised as kebabs."

Hardik's competitive spirit flickered. "Excuse me? Krunal's chef is renowned!"

"For what?" Amrita feigned innocence. "Making glowing embers look like food?"

Hardik rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Be that way. But when you're begging me to share my fries later, don't come crying."

Amrita scoffed. "As if. I wouldn't be caught dead eating your... what do you even call that monstrosity you put on fries?"

"It's a deconstructed shepherd's pie," Hardik defended, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Sounds like a fancy way of saying soggy mess," Amrita countered, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips despite herself.

Just then, a waiter approached. "Excuse me, sir, madam, can I interest you in some pani puri?"

Hardik and Amrita looked at each other, a silent challenge passing between them.

"Absolutely," Hardik said, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face. "Make it extra spicy."

Amrita raised an eyebrow. "Oh, it's on. Make mine double the filling."

The waiter scurried away, slightly bewildered by the sudden surge in pani puri orders. Hardik and Amrita stood there, the playful animosity crackling between them like electricity.

"Maybe," Hardik conceded, a hint of a smile softening his features, "the evening won't be a complete disaster after all."

Amrita tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. "We'll see about that, Pandya. We'll see about that."

The silence in Hardik Pandya's hotel room was thick with tension. The usually vibrant curtains were drawn, casting the room in a gloomy half-light. Hardik sat slumped on the plush couch, staring blankly at a wall plastered with news clippings of his past glories - a stark reminder of his current slump.

A knock on the door startled him. Before he could respond, it creaked open, revealing Amrita Singh. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of him.

"Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thought you'd grown roots to that couch."

Hardik remained silent, his gaze unwavering from the wall. Amrita, used to his usual fiery retorts, found the lack of response unsettling. She walked further into the room, her heels clicking on the marble floor.

"What's wrong, Pandya?" she pressed, a hint of concern creeping into her voice. "Lost your voice along with your batting form?"

Still no response. Amrita sighed, a flicker of worry crossing her face. This wasn't the Hardik she knew – the one who thrived on competition, even their petty squabbles.

Folding her arms, she stood before him. "Alright, fine," she conceded. "Maybe the burrata situation at Krunal's party scarred you for life. But seriously, what's going on?"